


The Seduction of Sarah Sawyer

by Mazarin221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Humor, Multi, OT3, Threesome - F/M/M, historic romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 17:53:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazarin221b/pseuds/Mazarin221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted to LiveJournal April 1, 2011.</p><p> <i>"Her rational mind knew it would be impossible to continue their relationship as three, but John and Sherlock obviously cared very much about each other, and she couldn't imagine her life without either of them, now."</i> </p><p>Sarah Sawyer is brought to Lord Mycroft Holmes' house to be introduced to her prospective husband - the Lord's younger brother, Sherlock. And into the bargain comes Sherlock's constant companion, Dr. John Watson. </p><p>Art by MarieMJS</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Seduction of Sarah Sawyer

**Author's Note:**

> This all started in late March 2011 with a minor threat to write Saathi1013's OT3 as a Harlequin Romance novel, and then Carolyn Claire said, "Yeah, you totally should!" then Saathi was like "Do it!", so I did. Then Marie got wind of it, and brought us glorious art! All props to them, though; I made the bread, they covered it with cheese. Our little April Fool's joke for the fandom.

 

The wind cut chillingly across the moors as Sarah Sawyer stepped from her carriage into the gray light of a March afternoon. The house in front of her was imposing: cold, stone gray, without even the hint of color the ivy leaves would provide in a few months time. 

Sarah hesitated, considering the fate that awaited her here.

She was betrothed to Lord Holmes' only brother, Sherlock. The younger son of a Baron wasn’t an unparalleled prize, she supposed, but with her fortune, money would never be an issue, at least. Oh, no, it wasn’t material considerations that made her pause; it was the man's strangeness, his affinity for scientific experimentation, for associating with the more unsavory classes, and his reputed laziness and indolence that worried her. She had met him on several occasions; a handsome devil, to be sure, but supercilious in all of his dealings with the opposite sex, from what she had seen and heard. When they’d been introduced, once the match had been arranged, he’d simply given her a swift head-to-toe appraisal and pronounced, “She’ll do. At least she isn’t excruciatingly stupid.”

Sarah had been so floored she hadn’t been able to reply, berating herself later with all of the clever things she should have said. The meeting had left no good feeling between them, certainly.

And now here she was, ready to spend the next few weeks in his house, with his family, under the watchful eye of her father (her mother's health not allowing her to travel), who, for reasons of business, had been delayed. She would have to make do with her own maid and Lady Holmes as chaperones for a few days, until he arrived, and hope there would be no gossip. After all, they were to be married; what did it signify if she were here without escort for a few days?

The door opened and Sarah was welcomed inside by the housekeeper--Mrs. Hudson, Sarah remembered her mother telling her. She’d been told all of the names of the more important members of the Holmes' staff, as well as having been lectured on the Holmes' lineage and implored in the strictest of tones to behave herself, for heaven’s sake, lest the entire match fall through and ruin them all with scandal.

After depositing her gloves and wrap in the hands of the nearest footman, Sarah was shown to the drawing room. The inside of the house wasn’t much more welcoming than the outside, honestly. The main hall was dim and damp, stone walls covered by tapestries so old she thought they’d probably moulded in place. The Holmes family was ancient, no doubt, but the place could use some brightening up. Thank God for small mercies that she and Sherlock weren’t meant to live there forever.

The drawing room was a bit better, cheered as it was by a small fire. Sarah stepped up to it, grateful for the warmth on her hands.

“I’ll have the tea sent in shortly, Miss,” Mrs. Hudson said, kindly. “Lady Holmes is resting, and his Lordship won't be home until supper, I'm afraid.”She smiled apologetically.“The house is at your disposal. At the gong, I’ll show you to your room.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said, grateful that at least someone seemed inclined to be kind. Her future husband was nowhere to be seen, but that was to be expected, given what she knew of him and how disinterested he seemed in the business, generally. Why he was even acquiescing to this marriage was a mystery to her; she didn’t have much choice in the matter, as far as her own family was concerned, but surely he did.

There was nothing left to do now but wait upon her fiance's arrival.Sarah sat in the small chair near the fire, pulled the little copy of The Morse Lectures from her reticule and started to read, a lovely cup of tea and a plate of fresh biscuits deposited on the table at her elbow by a silent maid.

She’d become so engrossed in Henry Calderwood’s arguments regarding science and religion that she started violently when the drawing room door swung open and hit the wall with a crash.

“Good God, Holmes, did you see his face?” a voice called out as a small, blonde man dressed for the country staggered through the door, doubled over with laughter, and hung on to the back of the settee. Her intended, Sherlock Holmes, entered directly behind him, a grin on his angular face the like of which she had never seen before. He usually looks so annoyed, she thought, momentarily entranced. The smile made him handsome, softened the sharpness of his face and rendered him approachable. Sarah rose slowly, smoothing her dove gray dress and waiting for him to acknowledge her.

She didn’t have long to wait. Sherlock took one quick glance across the room and was immediately sobered, the bright smile slipping from his face. His companion, noticing his friend’s sudden stillness, looked up and, catching sight of her, sobered as well.

“Ah, ahem. Yes. John, please allow me to present Miss Sarah Sawyer. Miss Sawyer, this is Doctor John Watson. Doctor Watson is my…friend.” Sherlock hesitated over the last word, a guarded expression crossing his features, and Sarah looked sharply askance. Friend, was he? Sarah might be a bit innocent, but she was no fool.

“Colleague, actually,” John said smoothly, taking her hand. “And I’m incredibly pleased to meet you. Sherlock said he’d made a match, but he never said he’d gotten so lucky in having won such beautiful woman for his partner.”

Sarah blushed. “You’re too kind, Dr. Watson.I wasn’t aware that Mr. Holmes had such an agreeable friend, or any friends to speak of. He seems quite the solitary soul.”

John looked gleeful and seemed about to say something, but Sherlock cut across him.

“Yes, we can discuss my anti-social tendencies later. The dressing gong is about to sound, and you know how Mycroft abhors tardiness at meals.”

John quirked a wry smile at Sarah. “Very well, Sherlock, have it your own way. We shall see you at dinner, then, Miss Sawyer?”

Sarah smiled in return. She couldn't help it; Dr. Watson was a charming, handsome man, and at least one of the two, it seemed, would be good company. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“One more curl, Miss, then we’ll be done. Stop fussing with that part! It’s perfect as is.”

Eleanor, Sarah’s lady’s maid, was attempting, not for the first time, to keep Sarah’s fingers out of her hair. Sarah knew that their combined efforts were wasted as far as Sherlock was concerned, and she wasn’t particularly worried about it. Lord and Lady Holmes were another matter entirely, though, and Sarah knew she needed to appear at dinner with all flags flying.

The deep green silk gown highlighted her fair skin, the emerald and peacock feather ornaments in her hair accenting her shining auburn curls and coils. Shimmering borders of iridescent beads accented her skirts and bodice, making the dress seem to glitter slightly as she moved, drawing attention to her ample bosom and small waist. She’d been laced up as tightly as possible, which usually made it impossible to eat, but the dress had to fit smoothly, without a single bump or wrinkle to mar its elegance. She took a few shallow breaths, trying to calm her nervousness, picked up her favorite gold clasp bracelet from where it hung on the little china elephant with the paper heart on its trunk, and headed downstairs.

The dining room was large and laid for five, which barely took up any space at all at one end of the massive table. Lord Holmes, elegant in his black tie, had welcomed her warmly, escorting her into the dining room with ease and charm. It was unfortunate that none of that charm had rubbed off on his younger brother, who followed sullenly behind them with his sister-in-law. John was left to fend for himself, a regrettable circumstance, but unavoidable, at times.

Dinner was lively, between John Watson’s entertaining anecdotes about the War and Lady Holmes' conversation about the neighborhood, which seemed to be well populated despite the remote feeling of the house. Sherlock gave the four of them dirty, disgruntled looks all through dinner, and as Lord Holmes seemed to be willing to ignore him, Sarah did the same. She wondered if he really would disappear to South America after they were married, as he'd mentioned in her hearing; it would certainly make future dinner parties much more comfortable.

After the meal, once she and Lady Holmes had finished their tea and gossip about a few of the debutantes Sarah had known over her two Seasons, Lady Holmes excused herself from the drawing room, claiming she was indisposed. _Pregnant,_ Sarah thought, _and early on. Well, I hope for her sake it’s a boy, and for mine, too._ The pressure for her to produce an heir would be a hundredweight heavier if Lady Holmes didn’t. Oh, she knew what was expected of her, but she certainly couldn’t imagine Sherlock willingly participating in such a scenario. She’d be surprised if their marriage of convenience was ever consummated at all, which was rather too bad, really, given his striking appearance, his long, slim body and elegant hands. Sarah shivered a little, imagining. Yes, certainly too bad. And Doctor Watson, well. Handsome, charming, considerate—he was the sort of man who could make himself welcome in any woman's bed.But if she read them right, the guarded looks and private smiles, the way they seemed to inhabit a world of their own even when amongst others, it appeared she was the last person either of them would want in theirs.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The few days passed very quickly, filled with riding parties, dinner invitations, some quiet moments to read, and requests to play badminton or cards with Dr. Watson. Sherlock rarely participated, preferring to sequester himself in his room or wander off on his own, except for after dinner, when Lord Holmes demanded his presence. Then he would lounge about and sigh dramatically while keeping a very sharp eye and Dr. Watson and herself, ensuring that he was within hearing range no matter where they were in the room. Sarah made several attempts to engage him in conversation; after all, he would be her husband one day soon, so she should at least make an effort to understand him.

Despite her persistence, he generally resisted her advances, keeping his responses to her conversational sallies short but not unkind, until the day Sarah mentally threw up her hands in exasperation and asked him if he cared to play chess. Her mother had lectured her many times about the unsuitability of challenging a man to a game of strategy, insisting that the consequences to her reputation, were she to win, would be immense, as she was already considered by many to be a sad bluestocking. But Sarah had a feeling Sherlock wouldn’t feel that way, and such a challenge might even intrigue him.

He quirked a smile at her request. “My dear Miss Sawyer, either you believe you have the intellectual capacity to beat me at chess, or you hope to flatter my ego by participating in a game at which I will surely win. I don’t believe you are stupid; no, your copy of The Morse Lectures shows you have at least some intellectual curiosity, which astounds me. Let us play.”

A small table and two chairs were situated before the fire. Sarah settled her rose-colored skirts around her as she gracefully took her seat, the firelight throwing glints of light from the heavy silver embroidery on the bodice of her dress and the edges of her overskirt. John’s expression as he looked at her was unabashedly admiring as he placed a chair for himself next to the table; Sherlock was merely setting the board, seemingly oblivious to her appearance.

Sarah drew white and sent her pawns whirling across the board, boldly employing her rooks and knights in defense of her queen as Sherlock tore through her defenses like a hailstorm. His face as he played was beautifully intense, and Sarah had to focus, lest she be lost in admiration of it. He was a good player, erratic, relying on risky gambits to pay off in large takes, and Sarah was almost left gasping as she slapped together defense after defense in a futile attempt to stop him.John’s face was rapt as he watched the game play out, and he seemed a bit warm, tugging at his collar and straightening his jacket at intervals.

Sherlock had chivvied her king into a tight corner, and Sarah brought up her queen in defense, tapping Sherlock’s lost knight thoughtfully against her bottom lip, rubbing it back and forth as she contemplated her next move. She glanced up to see John openly staring, and she put the piece down quickly, reminded of her father chiding her about such childish habits.Flustered, she hurriedly moved her queen, but she had shifted her too soon, and she lost her.

“You’re faltering, Miss Sawyer. But you’ve challenged me more than most, I’ll give you that much credit.”

“More than most? I’ll take that as a compliment, then,” Sarah retorted, and with one move, the set of pawns she had left scattered across the board was revealed as a neat and deadly trap. In six more moves, she had him mated.

The look of amazement on his face was the most gratifying prize she had ever won. She wanted to jump up in the air and kiss John, who was staring between the board and Sherlock with a disbelieving grin on his face.

“Well done, Miss Sawyer!” John finally cried, grasping her hand and squeezing it. “That look on his face is worth a hundred pounds! A thousand!”John dissolved in laughter at Sherlock’s indignant look, and Sarah, seeing it, lost a little of her frivolity.

“I do hope you aren’t too annoyed, Mr. Holmes.It was never my intention to upset you.” Sarah reached out and placed her hand tentatively on Sherlock’s arm.

He looked down at it for a moment, and Sarah held her breath, waiting for the rebuff she was sure was coming. Instead, Sherlock broke into a wry grin and shook his head.

“I’d be a fool to resent intelligence in another, Miss Sawyer. Well played. Very well played, indeed.” Sarah’s astonishment at his generous praise grew even greater when he gently lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles lightly.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The moon had risen high in the sky when Sarah was woken abruptly by a high, moaning cry that seemed to come from somewhere nearby, beyond her closed bedroom door. It had sounded human, but like nothing she’d ever heard before, almost pained in its intensity and most alarming. She hoped that no one had been hurt.She sat up in her bed, considering.It most likely wasn't any business of hers, but it was too worrisome to ignore, and she might be needed.She could just step outside her door to check; she doubted she'd be able to sleep, again, without knowing.

With a pounding heart, she pulled her cream-colored chiffon peignoir, trimmed with blue ribbons, over her blue satin nightdress, tucked her feet into her slippers, and padded into the hallway, staying close to the wall. She crept silently a few steps down the hall until she reached the intersection, lit well by the moon streaming through the window.She knew that if she turned left at the end, she’d find the staircase, but she felt sure that the sound had come from nearer than that. If she turned right, she’d find Sherlock and John’s rooms at the end of the small alcove.

She didn’t hear the sound again; the hallway was as silent and chilly as ever. Feeling utterly ridiculous, she turned to go back to her room when she heard a door open around the corner to her right.

“No, I don’t believe so,” John’s voice said quietly, somewhat muffled. Sarah edged around the corner slightly, just enough to give her a view of John’s and Sherlock’s doors. The door to Sherlock’s room was closing quietly.Sarah could hear both men's voices speaking in low, hushed tones, and despite admonishing herself not to eavesdrop, she found herself slowly and quietly edging toward the door to listen, wondering if this was the source of the alarming sound. When she got near, the door opened a crack, letting a tiny sliver of light spill out into the hall. Silently cursing herself, Sarah shrank back, then hesitated, crept up to the crack and peeked inside. What she saw left her stunned.

John and Sherlock were completely naked, their skin glowing golden in the firelight. Sherlock was reclining on the bed, head tipped back, an expression of absolute bliss on his face.John knelt between his thighs, one hand on Sherlock’s prodigiously long erection, his tongue swirling around the flared head. John's head bobbed as he took him deeper into his mouth, and Sherlock moaned breathlessly, quietly, and placed his hands on John’s blonde head to guide him.

Sarah felt her mouth drop open ( _Oh, of course he’d want to be serviced_ , she thought nastily) as the sounds grew louder, more needy, and Sherlock began to thrust up into John’s willing mouth. She’d never seen anything more beautiful in her life than Sherlock Holmes in complete abandon, John providing him pleasure and, it seemed, finding his own pleasure in that gift.

As the two men reached a crescendo of passion, Sarah felt her face and bosom flush. The strongest urge to touch herself in her most private place began to take hold, but she didn’t dare out here, in the open. She slipped a hand up to her breast, stroking and teasing her nipple through the thin fabric, finding no relief in the caress and still unable to look away from the scene in Sherlock’s bed.

John pulled his mouth away from Sherlock’s glistening manhood and slid up his body to give Sherlock’s dazed face a tender kiss. Sherlock pulled John down to lie next to him, under his arm. Sarah suddenly realized she’d been watching for quite a while and, covered in mortification, had started to tiptoe quietly away when she heard a sound that stopped her cold.

“Good evening, Miss Sawyer,” came Sherlock’s voice through the door. “Won’t you join us?”

Sarah froze. She should go back to her bed; she ought to be disgusted, storm right back to her room and pack her bags, but she couldn’t move. The pull of what she had seen was like a siren song. Was she to be upbraided for her spying?Or was the invitation to join them a test, a way to prove her mettle as a future wife to this strange man? She had hoped her wifely duties would be pleasant, if they were even required; would she now have the opportunity to find out what they might actually entail?

Decided, she slowly pushed the door open and slipped inside the room, lit only by firelight and candles on each beside table. Sherlock’s room was large, dominated by a massive four-poster bed draped in midnight blue fabric. A human skull grinned at her from its perch on the mantelpiece; a table under the window held what looked like an entire laboratory of equipment, and bookshelf after bookshelf advertised his voracious intellectual appetite. A massive barn owl, pinned to a board, dominated one corner. Books and papers were scattered over every available surface. As Sarah slowly walked toward the bed, she could see even the bedside tables hadn’t escaped; a slim, leather-bound book with a stopwatch sitting on it was next to the bed, with sheets of papers labeled “Fine” and “Not Fine” sticking out from its edges.

“How lovely you look, Sarah,” John purred into her ear, startling her from her perusal of the room. She hadn’t heard him approach. “Doesn’t your bride-to-be look lovely, Sherlock?”

Sherlock stood, the sheets slowly slipping away from his tall, lithe frame, with not even a hint of embarrassment over his nakedness. He stalked toward her, all ice-blue eyes and ebony curls, until he stood directly in front of her. Sarah felt her face heat.

“Oh, look at her blush, John. You color so prettily, my dear, and quite extensively, I'll wager.” Sherlock traced his finger down Sarah’s neck and collarbone and crooked it under the blue ribbon ties of her peignoir. “But you’re no innocent, are you, darling?” With that, Sherlock tore the ribbons from her dressing gown, shredding the front and leaving it hanging open. Her thin nightdress did nothing to hide the hardening of her nipples at his brash actions, and when she stepped back to compose herself, it was straight into John’s strong, compact body. His hands came up to slowly ease the shreds of her gown from her shoulders while he nuzzled her neck and murmured into her ear.

“Sherlock only wishes to become better acquainted with his future wife, you know. And as his dearest friend, so do I. You looked so lovely this evening, that glow of triumph on your face, it was difficult to keep my hands to myself.”

“It's apparent to me that you’re much more than friends,” Sarah choked out, arousal flashing through her trembling body at his words. “It doesn’t seem that I’m even necessary here.”

“But you are,” Sherlock drawled, flicking open the buttons of her nightdress. “You have something I need. And I have something you want, in return. Admit it, you were hoping I’d marry you and then leave you behind when I left for South America, freeing you to take a lover, live in my house, and enjoy the status my name would give you and your family. Isn’t that right?”

Sarah shivered, Sherlock’s long, elegant fingers sliding down her chest and making her ache with want, even as he drew out her deepest secrets. She could only moan, nodding assent, feeling John’s erection tight against her backside and his fingers stroking her collarbone.

“But isn’t this much better?” Sherlock continued. “Two men to satisfy you, to be yours for the taking, and all of the advantages of my name, as well? You’re a very intelligent woman, Sarah Sawyer.You’ve intrigued me, kept me off balance for a week. Only one other person has ever done such a thing, and he’s standing behind you.”

Rational thought was beyond her, now; her body was begging for their touch, her skin feeling almost aflame with desire. Sarah raised her hands to push the nightdress from her shoulders, allowing it to pool around her ankles and exposing her body to their hungry gazes.

John groaned and wrapped his arms around her to test the weight of her round, white globes in his hands, then held them for Sherlock’s questing mouth.Sherlock latched onto a pert, pink nipple and laved it with his tongue, making Sarah shiver and moan.

“We should take this to the bed, mate,” John said, tapping Sherlock on the cheek with one finger.

Sherlock released Sarah, then swept her up in his arms and to carried her to bed. Sarah giggled, tucking her face into Sherlock’s chest for a moment to smell his warm skin, which reminded her of a fresh summer’s morning, sweet and clean.

He laid her on the bed carefully, her auburn tresses fanned over the pillow, and appraised her carefully.

“There’s no going back from here, so choose carefully.Be very sure.”

Sarah didn’t waver. Sometimes one's instincts really were the the best guide, both in business and in life, as her Father had taught her. And hers told her to take this opportunity with both hands and run with it. “Yes, Sherlock. Yes, John. Both. Together, the three of us.”

Sherlock and John climbed onto the high bed, one on each side of her. Sherlock leaned in first for a kiss, tasting her plump red lips, teasing her tongue with his, while John feathered kisses over her stomach.

“You’re not a virgin, are you Sarah,” Sherlock said into her ear. It was a statement, not a question.“You went on holiday to the south of France last year. You met a man, didn’t you?”

Sarah pulled back a bit and frowned. “A bit late for it to matter, isn’t it?” she asked, as she felt John nuzzling the inside of her thigh.

“I think you misunderstood me. I only meant that we have less need to be…careful, if you’re somewhat experienced.”

Realization raced through Sarah’s body, leaving heat it its wake; oh, she hoped they wouldn't be too careful.Passion overwhelmed her, she was drowning in it, barely able to keep her mind on what he was saying.

John's kisses finally reached the apex of her creamy white thighs, and he slid his hands to her knees to raise and part them further, leaning forward to nibble at her delicate folds. His tongue flicked out to taste her skin, then began lapping at her sweet nectar in earnest as Sarah moaned and twisted under the ministrations of his talented mouth. Sherlock gripped her wrists, kissing her, trying to keep her as quiet as possible.

“He is very skilled, isn’t he?” Sherlock whispered in her ear. “I may need to restrain you a bit to help you to enjoy it fully.” Before Sarah could even think to protest, Sherlock had wrapped a silk scarf around her wrists and through the headboard, binding her hands loosely but still securely above her head.Sherlock looked thrilled, but not threatening, and Sarah trusted that he’d let her go if she asked him. Instead, she laid back on the bed and closed her eyes, feeling her orgasm stealing up on her, building to an incredible height.Just before she reached the peak, a frisson of unexpected heat slid over her nipples and sent her flying over the edge, Sherlock’s hand over her mouth muffling her screams.

When she came back to herself, Sarah could see two sets of eyes, one brown and one silver-blue, looking at her with smug satisfaction.Her wrists had been released, and when she stretched, she could feel something strange on her chest.She looked down and discovered her breasts and nipples adorned in fine drizzles of candle wax. She looked up sharply and saw a mischievous smile on Sherlock’s face.

“You’re utterly mad,” she said, shaking her head. “But I’m not complaining.” A glass of wine was pressed into her hand and she drank. Once the glass was drained, she pushed a small pile of paper cranes to the side and placed the glass on the bedside table, along with the scarf. “Come here, both of you.”

Sarah drew Sherlock to her first, as was his due, kissing him and running her hands down his sides to his throbbing, tumescent manhood. She should give herself to him first, she felt, but wasn’t sure how to go about telling him so.She grasped his long, curved member, stroking it gently, reveling in his choked moans, and whispered, “You,” into his mouth.

Sherlock inhaled sharply and slidfrom her grasp, eagerly placed himself between her parted knees and ran his hands over her trembling thighs. She was still wet and slick from John’s earlier attentions, so taking so large a man wouldn’t be too difficult, she hoped.Sherlock pressed her knees apart a little further and lifted her arse to press a pillow underneath. Sarah reached out for John’s hand, and he wrapped his fingers around hers gently, holding tightly as Sherlock carefully lined himself up and pressed inside her body in a slow, smooth thrust.

Sarah arched as the world tipped sideways.Sherlock was so deep it was almost painful. As he began to move inside her gently, Sarah grasped John’s hip and pulled him closer to her.

“I don't want to neglect you, my dear John,” she gasped. ”I’d like to reciprocate, if you wouldn't mind?”

John glanced quickly at Sherlock, who nodded his assent with a quick jerk of his head. “Far be it from me to deny her, John.”

As John leaned in to meet her, Sarah maneuvered herself up on one elbow and reached a hand out to steady his dripping cock, so long neglected. She took the head between her lips gently, savoring the taste of him, salty, sweet and perfect.John attempted to hold himself still under her ministrations, but he’d been waiting since before she’d come in the room, and he began to thrust into her mouth with tiny, quick jerks of his hips. Sarah took him down as far as she could, circling her hand around the base and trying to find a rhythm to match Sherlock's. It was slightly awkward for a moment, but when they all found a tempo that worked, it was heavenly.Sarah drifted on a wave of pure sensation.

“Look,” Sherlock said gently, directing her eyes to the side with a nod, where she caught sight of their reflection in a long cheval mirror that had been angled toward the bed. They were beautiful together, Sarah thought as she slid her mouth over John’s turgid length and hooked her leg around Sherlock’s slim waist. So different, and yet so compatible.

She felt Sherlock start to stutter, his thrusts faltering slightly, and she tipped her hips up to take him deeper. Her own orgasm felt far from her until Sherlock reached down and began to circle his thumb over her pearl of desire, which jolted her body with intense pleasure, causing Sherlock to shout out his release under the assault of her clenching velvet sheath. Sherlock’s orgasm triggered John’s, and he pulled out of Sarah’s mouth to spend over her body with a groan, painting her chest and stomach as she reached her own completion, quaking with delight until she fell over the precipice of satisfaction and down into the dark.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun streaming in through the high windows the next morning woke Sarah from the pleasant warmth two gorgeous men were providing on either side of her. She shifted slightly, and John opened his eyes first and blinked sleepily at her.

“Good morning,“ Sarah whispered, kissing John lightly on the cheek.

John smiled. “’Morning, beautiful girl. Still gloriously lovely, even after the night we had. Suppose there's any breakfast up, yet? I’m dying for some toast with jam.”

Sarah was about to push him back against the pillows and have her way with him when Sherlock’s arm tightened around her waist.

“S’not morning. It’s the middle of the night. Moon’s just bright,” he grumbled, pushing his face into the pillows.

Sarah laughed; it was a free, open sound that seemed to come from her very soul. “Well, I suppose that means our home won’t be open to many morning visitors, then, will it? It’s almost seven.” As Sarah checked the time her breath caught. “Seven! Oh no! Eleanor!” Sarah leapt from the bed, gathered the scattered pieces of her nightclothes and tried to put them on. She had to get back to her room before Eleanor came to wake her at 7:30.

She was just putting her first slipper on when the door swung open unexpectedly, causing her to jump.Lord Holmes stood in the doorway, a scowl on his face that could shrivel the stoutest of hearts. Sarah screamed and dove back for the bed, hiding behind John, who had gone pale under his tan.

“For God’s sake, Sherlock,” Lord Holmes sighed angrily, “I’ve tolerated your dalliance with Dr. Watson for much too long, and now you drag your fiancée into your disgraceful behavior? For shame.”

Sherlock merely lounged in the bed and lit a cigarette, watching his brother with little concern.“Oh, please, Mycroft. You’ll ‘tolerate’ it, as you say, for an eternity, because you know the only other option is exposure.”

Lord Holmes glared at Sherlock for a moment, and, finding no room for argument there, instead turned on Sarah.

“And you! I’m shocked at your behavior, Miss Sawyer. I expected a great deal more of David Sawyer’s daughter. I respect and admire him greatly; he’ll be sick to find out his daughter is nothing but a common harlot.”

Sarah blanched and felt sick. She had one weak spot – she loved her father very much, and her ruin would break his heart. Sarah choked back a sob, gathered the tattered remnants of her dressing gown around her and fled the room amid John’s attempts to stop her and Sherlock’s loud and indignant defense. She pushed past Mycroft just as Sherlock jumped out of bed, still naked, and pulled a threatening looking exercise weight from the umbrella stand near the door.

Sarah’s slippers slid on the hall carpet as she ran as fast as she could to her own room. She burst through the door, snatched her pink day dress from the wardrobe and threw it on as quickly as she could, notstopping to put on her corset. Her fingers fumbled over the buttonhook, ripping a couple of the buttons from her favorite boots, but she didn’t care. As soon as they were buttoned enough to walk in, Sarah ran downstairs, passing John, who had dressed hurriedly, as well, and was standing in the doorway to Sherlock’s room, watching Sherlock and Lord Holmes shout at each other without regard for what the servants might overhear.

“Sarah, wait,” John called. “Please, it will be fine, it will…”

“No, John, I need to get out of this house. I’m going for a walk.” The stairs had never seemed so long as they did right then. Sarah navigated her way poorly through the great house, stymied at every turn, until she ran into Gladstone, the butler. He was startled to see her, to be sure, but his training held.

“Does Miss require something?”

“Yes, Gladstone. My cloak and gloves, please, and a way to get out of this bloody house before I lose my mind!”

Gladstone’s eyes widened a fraction, but he only said “Indeed, Miss,” and fetched her things, directing her out of the South entrance and into the sunlight.

The path to the cliffs on the edge of the Holmes' property was worn smooth with the passage of time and many feet. She felt sure that Sherlock must have followed it many times; it seemed like the kind of place he would go to brood, his Byronic scowl fixed in place. She sighed. It didn’t look like she’d have the opportunity to kiss that scowl away for good, now. If she was lucky, she’d be shipped off to America like the disappointment she was, where she would marry a tradesman and hope to forget that any of this had ever happened.

But oh, how could she ever forget the feeling of Sherlock’s lips, the passion he could engender with his body cleaved to hers? And John, so strong and stalwart and funny and kind, with a giving, generous spirit in lovemaking that made her heart clench to recall the sweetness of it.

Sarah stood at the edge of the cliffs overlooking the sea, letting the cool wind whip her skirts as her hair streamed loose behind her.Her rational mind knew that it would be impossible to continue their relationship as three, but John and Sherlock obviously cared very much about each other, and she couldn’t imagine her life without either of them, now. She and Sherlock on their own would be a disaster, they truly needed the tempering influence of John to make it work.

The longer she stood and let herself brood, the more she felt she needed to go back. Claim the place that was meant for her, and surely it all would work out, somehow?

“Lovely view, isn’t it?” Sherlock’s voice directly behind her startled Sarah, and she stepped forward reflexively toward the cliff's edge. John caught her under her elbow, pulling her back.

Sarah turned, hoping against hope that they had come to tell her that she could be theirs. The cheer in their eyes was evident, and Sarah smiled. “Is it good news? Do you have something to tell me?”

“Yes,” John started. “Well, Sherlock does.But it’s all fine, Sarah, really.”

“My brother possesses extraordinarily short views of what might be best for him in the long term,” Sherlock said, “and he momentarily forgot just how much about his habits I do know. Not to mention my own peculiar lifestyle, knowledge of which could derail any future hopes he has for a political career should it to spread to certain circles.”

Sherlock stepped forward and took Sarah’s hands in his. “It’s a risk, I'll admit that. But I think we would all do quite well together. You and I will marry, as expected, and John will remain with us as our friend and companion. Some tongues may wag, but most will look the other way. Isn’t that right, John?”

“Certainly. A bachelor doctor and a scientist, no one would think twice, especially when Sherlock would be happily married. But you aren’t saying anything, Sarah. Do you want this? Want us?” John stepped next to Sherlock and placed his hand on her arm, imploring. “It would make all of us happy, wouldn’t it?”

Sarah beamed. She knew she could take the safer course and leave, if she chose, but her mind was well made up. “Oh John, it would. And I want you both. Forever, if we can manage it. I will never willingly be parted from either of you, come death or Lord Mycroft Holmes.”

The smile that stole across Sherlock’s face at her declaration took her breath away with its shyness and sweetness, and she leaned forward to capture his lips with her own.John stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, reaching out as far as he could to encompass Sherlock within the circle of his embrace. They stood together like that, Sarah wrapped in John and Sherlock’s cloaks, together against the bright sky and sheltered from the world.


End file.
